The Complications of Starting a Rebellion
by Drew Demeter
Summary: War has officially begun in the districts, and Posy in District Thirteen is hardly out of it, but with a baby on the way and her overprotective brothers watching her every move, her want to join the rebellion is dampened. How long will these setbacks keep her out of the fight for revenge? And how long will it be before Thread finds her again? Sequel to Broken Promises!
1. Chapter 1

**The Complications of Starting a Rebellion- a Hunger Games Fanfic**

**Author: **Drew Demeter

**Pairings: **Posy/OC, Madge/Gale, Rory/Prim, probably some OC/OC as well

**Rating: **T because I don't like writing too graphic ;) Violence might be bad, though, depending on how this goes.

**Summary: **Takes place around the MJ time era, I'm guessing. War has officially begun in the districts, and Posy in District Thirteen is hardly out of it, but with a baby on the way and her overprotective brothers, her want to join the fight is dampened. How long will these setbacks keep her out of the fight for revenge? And how long will it be before Thread finds her again?

**Warnings: **references to sexual abuse and/or content, plenty of violence (it _is _a war, after all people!), some language, and possibly some substance abuse, but hopefully nothing will be too much worse than the books.

**Disclaimer: **Anything recognizable from HG belongs, obviously, to Suzanne Collins, but everything else is mine.

_**Sequel to Broken Promises **__(I suggest reading that first!)_

**A/N: Hello readers! I wanted to save this first chapter for a Christmas present, but I guess it'll have to be early because I'm in a writing mood! First off, I want to say RIP to the people in Connecticut who lost their lives yesterday. They are beautiful and will always be remembered in my heart :'(**

**And now, since I'm officially off for winter break, I think it's time to start the sequel to Broken Promises! It's been almost a year since I started writing that… anyway, enjoy!**

**Chapter 1**

I wake up to the sound of a shrill whistle being blown from somewhere outside of my bedroom door. A flood of nausea overpasses me as I make a mad rush for the toilet, dry heaving and clutching my stomach.

Welcome to District Thirteen, home sweet home for the past three months. I found out I was pregnant when we got here. The nurse in the infirmary here says it's been four months already. Five more to go.

As another wave of sickness dives over me, I lean over the toilet bowl, retching and crying at the same time. I'm too young to be doing this. I shouldn't _have _to be doing this. Thread did this.

Ever since we left Twelve, my thoughts have become a bit broken. I don't talk much; I eat only enough to keep the baby healthy. Mom was _not _very happy when we got the test results back, but she isn't the type of person to want to kill off her grandchild. I've sworn up and down that it is Tre's, just to avoid any questioning, but Tre has been missing for the past month. Even if he were here, I think Gale and Vick would have killed him by now. They've become even more protective over me.

As if my thoughts have somehow conjured him up out of nowhere, I feel a strong, warm presence behind me, hands gripping my hair back as I continue to retch. It's Gale- I know it is. He's the only one who would be up this early, right after the whistle, to get down to the training center. Gale wants to go and fight as soon as possible. For Rory, he said. We still don't know where Rory is, but Gale is determined to get him back.

The nausea subsides- it always does- and Gale stands quietly back, observing me carefully as I try to brush my teeth without my hands shaking. Throwing up always leaves a disgusting feeling in me. I feel disgusting.

I look at myself in the mirror. I _look _disgusting. My hair is limp and greasy, my eyes rimmed with big black circles from lack of sleep. It doesn't help that the authorities here expect us all to be up at the crack of dawn. No exceptions, not unless you don't fancy eating that morning.

Gale clears his throat, and I tear my eyes away from my reflection to look at him. He looks tired too. Mom says he's overworking himself with the training, but Gale doesn't listen. He really wants to fight.

Madge, of course, doesn't want him to go. I don't blame her- the twins will be crawling soon, and, if they are anything like their father, they will be the most adventurous babies ever, always getting into trouble. I wouldn't want to single-parent either.

My hands automatically go down to my stomach at the thought of babies, shielding it from Gale's critical gaze. Sometimes, if I try hard enough, I can pretend it really _is _Tre's baby. That may be the only time that I really love it.

Gale casts a disapproving glance down at the little bump just showing through my nightshirt. He knows better than to bring it up- talk of this baby only results in a lot of yelling and me crying at sometime or other. I'm sick of crying, and he's sick of yelling, so most of the times we pretend that the bump isn't there.

His eyes train back up to my face, searching for something. What, I don't know. I glance at him questioningly, but he offers no answer. Just shakes his head and says, "You should go and get dressed. Breakfast will be in less than half an hour."

Suddenly, the little communicuff on Gale's wrist beeps annoyingly, signaling that he is getting called somewhere. Without a word, my brother strides out, glancing down at his wrist occasionally. I'm not stupid- I know he didn't want to check it in front of me. For some reason, that hurts a lot, and tears flood to my eyes. I shake my head angrily against them. Stupid hormones- no one ever warned me about this.

The clothes here are all shapeless and gray, but they cover my bump and I'm grateful. Although Thirteen is in desperate need of babies- a case of disease left most of the women infertile a few years back- I'm still thought of as the girl who mothers shield their children from, the girl who, God forbid, is pregnant out of wedlock. I don't really care- I have my family, and that's enough. I don't want or need anyone else.

A soft knock startles me out of my bitterness, but before I can reply, the door is slid open, revealing Madge in her own gray outfit, with Katniss and Nolan nestled into the crook of her arm. Motherhood has been good to my sister-in-law; her cheeks are flushed and the happiness lines around her eyes are even more prominent than before. I'm happy for her, but I don't think I'll look like that after this baby is out.

"How are you feeling, Pose?" she asks, looking pointedly at my pale face and then down at my abdomen. Madge is supportive of me, more so than any of the rest of my family, and for that I'm grateful. She also knows about pregnancy, and teaches me whenever I feel angry and confused.

"Fine." The answer is curt, but she knows to expect that from me. Nodding again, she gives me a small smile and leaves, closing the door behind her. Another thing I like about Madge- she doesn't push me when I don't want to talk.

Soon, Mom comes to get me and we all file out of the small apartment that they gave us upon arrival, heading down to the cafeteria for breakfast. Madge and Gale, as a married couple, were given separate housing next to our, with a door going in between so we can all be together if we want. It's bigger than the house in Twelve, but not nearly as cozy.

The portions on my plate this morning are bigger than before- food in Thirteen, like everything else, is rationed, but I guess my current condition gets me something. I eat like a pig, shoving everything into my mouth at astonishing speed. Mom looks embarrassed, but I can't help it- I'm starved.

After breakfast, I head down to the hanger to check for any new refugees that may be coming in. Sure enough, there are quite a few, but none of them are who I'm searching for. I do this every day, and every day I walk away disappointed. But I've learned to numb it and get on- it's the only way to go from day to day.

As I trudge, defeated, back up to the apartment, something on the large television screen that projects above the hanger catches my eye. It's a Capitol broadcast- Caesar Flickerman is seated to one side of the screen, looking as fake and pressed as usual. Suddenly, another person shuffles into view, seated stiffly to the other side of Caesar, looking grim and very, very familiar. My heart lurches so hard I fall to my knees with the realization.

It's my brother. Rory is in the Capitol.

**A/N: Sorry if it was bad, I didn't really know how to start. If anyone has any ideas, don't hesitate to let me know!**

**Anyway, please review and I'll try to update soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! I decided to post a chapter today not only for a late Christmas present but also because today is the one-year anniversary of the start of Broken Promises! So, yeah… that's pretty much it…**

**Next chapter!**

**Chapter 2**

Afternoon finds me in the supply closet at the far end of the hospital, dry tear tracks going down my cheeks. I always thought that, after growing up in a mining district, I would hate being in small spaces that even vaguely resembled the dark, cramped mines, but this closet has become my refuge from the world ever since I stopped having people monitoring my every move. No one ever comes in here- the medicine bottles are long expired and a thick layer of dust coats the place- so I have made it my own.

The last hour, I have been attempting to draw out what I'm feeling regarding Rory's television appearance and the beginning of the war. The only thing I've gotten out of this so far is the knowledge that I can't raw for shit, but I'm not one to give up on a project. The charcoal pencil smears across the off-colored white wall, leaving more of a mess than a masterpiece. I doubt Peeta would approve, if he were ever to see this picture.

I haven't seen Peeta since we arrived here, but I know he arrived from Twelve a few weeks ago, along with his mentor from the Games, Haymitch Abernathy. With the war going on in the Districts and all of the remaining Tributes from the most recent Hunger Games trapped in the Capitol, I'd expect that they're part of some secret mission, a secret weapon. I don't know the details- no one trusts me with anything here.

Suddenly, the door to the closet creaks open, revealing the tail of a blond braid that could only be one person. Moments later, Prim's tired face is revealed, squinting her eyes to adjust to the closet's dim light.

"Aha! I _knew _I would find you in here." She looks stern as she reaches for my hand, probably to pull me off the ground and back to the rest of the world. I just stare at her.

"How did you know I was here?" I ask, my own voice sounding foreign and guttural.

Prim sighs, drawing her hand back and joining me on the floor. "Lucky guess. Your mother is worried sick about you, you know."

I sit in silence, feeling a twinge of guilt.

"Sorry."

Prim shakes her head dismissively. "Oh please. You may think that I don't understand, but I do. I saw the television taping."

My eyes would fill with tears at the mention of Rory, but I think I've dehydrated myself too much for crying. Prim rests her head against the wall, closing her eyes. I'm startled when she speaks again.

"Is it really Tre's?" she doesn't need to clarify for me to know what she's referring to.

"Yes." The lie comes out easily enough.

"Would he tell us the same, if he were here now?"

"Yes."

Finally, Prim opens her eyes, her gaze resting on the failed drawing on the opposite wall. "What's that?"

A rush of color comes to my cheeks as I look at it. It's terrible, really. "Oh, just a picture."

I'm surprised when Prim laughs. It sounds very strange, almost forced. She hasn't laughed in a while.

"Go and ask Peeta."

"What?"

Her eyes shine with amusement. "To teach you how to draw. No offense, Pose, but that is incredibly sad."

I laugh in spite of myself, my throat hurting from the strange movement. "Okay, fair enough. Where is Peeta, anyway?"

"To be honest, I don't really know. The last time I saw him was last week, when he came in for burn salve."

"When- oh." The memory of the district going up in flames washes through my brain.

"Yeah." Prim wastes no time in changing the subject. "I've heard there's a team going to the Capitol to save the Tributes in a few weeks. Maybe he's training to go with them?"

"Maybe. Gale's said something like that but he's not giving us any details." Nor is anyone else.

"Well, maybe I can look into it, if you want," Prim suggests, surprising me. "It might help us- you- to feel better."

"Could you really do that?" I try not to let the hope creep into my voice.

She smiles shakily. "Sure. You know, I'm being trained as a real Doctor here. Not just a healer." The excitement is evident in the way her eyes light up when she talks about her profession. I'm happy for her; we all deserve a little happiness.

Without thinking, I reach over and pull Prim into a hug. She isn't as thin as she used to be- Thirteen provides three square meals a day for everyone- and there's certain strength in her arms when she hugs back. She's going to make a great doctor.

"Thank you," I whisper as we break apart. "For finding me."

Prim stands and wipes her hands on her white nurse's uniform. "No problem. You just watch out for yourself, okay? For you _and _the baby."

I wrap my hands around my abdomen almost protectively. "I will."

##

That night, I sit in my room, flipping casually through the television channels. After my talk with Prim, I've been feeling a little more optimistic, something that's surprised my family when we all sat down to dinner and I ate everything on my plate without prompting. Prim's right, it won't help Rory or Tre if I sit around feeling sorry for myself. No. The war has begun, and I intend to play any part in it.

The channels all showcase some kind of Capitol entertainment or a Thirteen broadcast, but I'm not looking for any of those. I flip back through the programs that aired earlier today, trying to find the interview with Rory in it. Finally, I find it.

Caesar begins in his usual fashion, smiling jovially toward the roaring crowd of Capitol folk before welcoming his first visitor to the stage. Rory, looking gaunt but nevertheless healthy enough stiffly approaches the chair opposite the interviewer.

"Ah, Rory Hawthorne of District Twelve! Tell me, how are you feeling?" Caesar asks, waving his hands around ridiculously.

"Fine." Even my brother's voice sounds stiff. From fear? I don't know.

"I am, however, a little upset from the news of the bombing of my own District a few weeks ago." The words sound incredibly rehearsed, as if he's reading them off of cue cards. There isn't anything in his hands though.

"Ah yes." Caesar allows a brief flash of sorrow to eclipse his voice. "That was, indeed, very sad to hear. Do you have any idea who could have started the fire that destroyed our citizens?"

"Yes. I believe it has something to do with the rebellion, and District Thirteen. The rebels have taken everything from us- safety, security. And now they decide to take away our rights to live as well? If any rebels are watching me now, I beg of you to stop this madness as soon as possible."

"Are you calling for a ceasefire?" Caesar asks, intrigued.

"Yes, I am calling for a ceasefire. "

**A/N: Sorry if this chapter wasn't very exciting, I'm trying to get Posy involved somewhat in the fight but we needed some help from Prim first! Anyway, please review, favorite, and follow and I'll try to have the next chapter up by next week!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: *creepy voice* I'm BAAACCKK! **

**Yes, friends, the hiatus is off for the summer- or, at least, for two weeks before I'm off with no internet to Norway to kayak in the Fjords. And do other stuff too. Anyway, I hope I haven't lost ALL of you during this time…**

**Chapter 3**

Following the ceasefire announcement on national television, Coin is positive that Rory is not to be trusted, and therefore should not be brought back to District Thirteen. Which in turn, causes Gale (and I) to be positive that Coin has lost her mind.

Of course, I don't get any say in the matter, despite that fact that this is my big brother we're talking about. Gale is the only family representative we have, and boy, does he represent. Around dinner time, there's a brisk knock at the door, which turns out to be a pair of shaved guards from Thirteen. A glowering Gale stand between them, handcuffed and steaming.

Madge appears behind me in the doorway, shooing me behind her and out of the guards' sights. She pushes her screaming son into my arms and balances Katniss on her left hip.

"Gale? What happened?" Madge asks, the picture of a perfect, orderly wife, although I know she is just dying to throw a few punches at the silent guards. We all are.

Gale doesn't answer his wife's question. Rather, he stomps past her, stopping only to slam his handcuffs into the kitchen table, leaving a thin dent running down the side. One of the guards enters our living quarters and unlocks the cuffs before Gale can do any more damage with them.

Once the guards are long gone and the babies are gurgling happily in their high chairs (another luxury of Thirteen), Madge plants herself firmly in front of the couch, where Gale sits staring at the blank television screen.

"Okay, now there's no excuse," she says. "Tell me what happened in there."

Neither of them seems to remember I'm in the room. Sinking into a nearby chair, I sit stoically, not wanting to miss the verdict. It can't have been good.

Gale looks up into Madge's face, not bothering to speak for so long that I wonder if he's ever going to speak at all. Finally, he sighs, staring down at his hands.

"They're going to rescue Rory along with the others," Gale's voice is deep with displeasure- I remember the same tone from childhood. I try and lean closer without drawing attention to myself.

"Well, that's good." Madge's voice is uncertain.

"But there's a catch," Gale finishes, his fists clenching so tight I'm sure they're going to snap. "When he gets here, Rory's going to be tried as a war criminal and locked up, if not executed. That Coin woman is a power-hungry bitch." His tone is venomous.

Madge sighs, her hands going into Gale's hair and rubbing soothingly. My older brother relaxes a little into her touch. "I know. She is. But there's nothing we can do about it, at least not until the Capitol is defeated."

"There _is _something I can do for him," Gale says, his voice desperate. "There has to be."

Suddenly, he leaps up from the couch and takes Madge's hands in his own, leaning down to kiss her softly.

"I'll be back," he says, and with a slam of the door, he's gone again. Madge turns to look at me.

"You heard all that." It's not a question. I nod, my hands going to my stomach. They seem to like doing that whenever I'm worried. Madge's eyes follow my movements, and her face becomes more tender, almost motherly.

With a breath, she pulls out a chair and studies me from across the table. We avoid looking at the dent Gale has left in the wood.

"Your brother is very stressed," Madge begins. I hold up an arm to stop her. I know that much, at least.

"I've heard this before," I say simply.

"Coin is senile. Of course Rory is being forced by the Capitol to say those things. Right?" I ponder, realizing halfway through that my thoughts have become words. Madge purses her lips.

"I don't want to lie to you," she says softly. I feel my eyes well up with unexpected sadness. Damn pregnancy hormones.

Madge notices my tears. "Are you feeling alright?" she asks, concerned, squeezing my hand across the table. I manage a tight smile.

"Hormones. I can't do anything these days," I grumble. Madge's lips quirk up at that.

"I can imagine. If that baby is anything like the twins, he or she will be kicking up a storm in a few weeks or so." She laughs at my horrified expression. "Just something to add to the wonders of pregnancy."

We allow the light-heartedness to drape over us like a blanket before moving on to more serious subjects.

"Have you thought about names yet? Or are you waiting for Tre?" Madge asks, testing my reaction at the mention of his name. Both of us realize that he might not even _come _back.

"Um. I haven't thought about it yet," I lie. Forgetting the time and place, I almost blurted out that Tre isn't my child's real father. Its father is probably somewhere in the Capitol, with no knowledge of its existence.

Thread. Thinking of him sends waves of disgust, shame, and general unpleasantness into my head. I want to forget him, but I can't, not when he's given me so much to remember.

When we first arrived in this district, and the doctors after performing a procedure health exam discovered my pregnancy, I had known immediately whose baby it was. That knowledge weighed heavily on me, and I had wanted the child dead. Dead before it was given life, before it was able to grow up. I didn't think I could ever love the product of such a terrible mistake.

No one would have questioned me for disposing of it- babies out of wedlock are regarded as social suicide in Twelve, and more than once I've seen pregnant Seam girls downing herbs behind the Hob to kill whatever life was blossoming inside of them. Something held me back from going down that path, though.

Tre, if I ever see him again, will cover for me. He knows what happened in the past, but he loves me, at least, and he'll take care of me. He might be able to love the child, even if I'm not able to. Tre is a better person than I am.

"Pose?" I startle out of my thoughts to see Madge, her forehead creased and anxious. "Are you alright? You kind of drifted off for a minute there."

I smile wearily, resting a hand on the table when nausea kicks in. I knew it was coming.

"Just thinking. A lot has happened," I reply, still thinking about Madge's question. I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought of any baby names at all, but nothing is certain. Just simple meandering ideas I entertain to keep me sane, so I can pretend that the baby is coming in a few years rather than a few months. I'm worried it will be early, and I'll have even less time to procrastinate.

Madge looks sympathetic. "Yes. A lot has happened," she echoes. "And a lot _will _happen. But everything will be okay in the end."

"It looks like the end will never come," I reply dryly. Madge is thoughtful.

"It will. You can't see it yet, that's all."

**A/N: Again, not much has happened, but don't worry, the action will come with time! Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hola amigos! The month has been crazy- I traveled across the Baltic Sea with only one boat and about ten bags. It was awe-inspiring, and I definitely recommend going up there.**

**I've changed this chapter slightly to make the timeline correct- thank you 15 for your review!**

**Chapter 4**

It's a warm day today. Or, at least, I feel like it _should _be. By the Capitol calendar, it is the 17th of September- the last spurt of summer before the promise of a mild fall, if not so mild winter. If I close my eyes and pretend, I can almost feel the breeze playing with the ends of my hair.

"And what about you?" I ask the little bulge, my hands cradling it in a way that's comforting, somehow. "Will you ever live to see a spring, outside of these walls? Will there be a day when it's safe for us to go above ground?"

I sigh, feeling stupid for talking to it. It can't hear me yet, despite what the doctor says. But I'm desperately lonely, and desperation has a way of making you do idiotic things. So I keep talking.

"Will you look like your father?" I wonder, stroking the sides of my tummy, where the ugly stretch marks are. I hate looking at them in the bathroom mirror after I shower.

A sudden picture of Tre's beautiful eyes comes unannounced into my thoughts. "I hope you have _his _eyes," I murmur, before I remember that that's impossible. Thread's eyes could never compare to that color of icicle blue.

The room is stifling, I think- like the air after a fire, humid and hot. I shudder as memories of fire- rather, my involvement with it- flash before the closed lids of my eyes. No. I don't need any reminder of fire. With great effort, I heave my bloated, pregnant body out of the armchair I've been sitting in and head for the door, wishing for the umpteenth time to feel the sun on my pale arms.

Not knowing where else to go, I head to the cafeteria, although there's no chance getting food there at this time in between the breakfast and lunch hours. But sometimes they bring in refugees who have just arrived and are in need of some nourishment- interesting people, in need of some good, meaningless chatter.

Sure enough, there is a group of ragged, tired refugees gathered around a table in the cafeteria, their coloring varying from Seam black and gray to the dark-haired, light-eyed people of Four. I draw back, suddenly shy but also starving for news of Tre.

The cafeteria has three sets of doors. One leads to the kitchens, offering a fairly clear view of the entire large room and fair acoustics- I remember from the few times I was volunteered to help dish out food at lunchtimes. The doorway which I am currently ducking behind is only a few feet away. Taking care to keep to the wall, I hurry across the floor and disappear over the threshold, not daring to check if anyone saw me or not. Then I press my head against the wall and listen, one eye taking stock of the people gathered before me.

They are not very distinguishable, not after having watched about thirty other groups much the same come and go with the days. I do a quick head count, leaving out the pressed gray Thirteen personnel- fourteen, six women and eight men, about half with their backs to me. No children can be seen. Their faces all display the same look of shell-shocked bewilderedness, a look I've seen in the eyes of many soldiers here, as they prepare to head to the districts and assist in the rebellion. A look I've seen, too, reflected in my own eyes, dark with sorrow and the knowledge of everything I've seen in my short life. It's a deadened look, the final protection against a world where, more often then not, you see things that you don't want to see.

Their clothes are torn and tattered, especially in the knees and elbows, and on some people I can make out stains of dried blood amid the dirt. It's a wonder, I think suddenly, that these people have traveled through the woods for days, if not weeks, and still they're breathing, after all they've been through.

Suddenly, a young woman dressed in the standard Thirteen uniform walks briskly into the kitchen, startling me from my spot. I gasp, clapping a hand over my mouth in embarrassment. She gives me a strange yet condescending look and says nothing. I am torn between gratitude and indignance.

Someone on the other side of the wall begins talking as the woman from Thirteen prepares a meager lunch of cold bread and cheese. Their accent is the strange, drawling speech of the south, of District Four, and the voice is distinctly male, deep and musical. I press my head against the wall once again, straining to hear his words.

"We walked most of the way," the man says. He has very dark brown hair, the color of the hardy wheat bread that Peeta's family used to make in Twelve. My heart constricts at the thought of them- had they managed to make it out alive?

A woman, her hair a light, coppery brown, snorts quietly, shooting a glance over her shoulder at the kitchen door, as if worried someone may have heard. "It seems like most of us did," she says quietly, her voice fast. "Those Thirteen people don't seem very… inclined to help us escape."

The man shushes her, looking quite embarrassed, and slightly fearful even. "Don't say that. We have nowhere else to go, if they were to turn us out."

"You think they'd turn us out?" Another man says. I strain even harder to see him- that is a voice of District Twelve, both familiar and alien at the same time.

"Who knows?" The woman replies, her voice practically dripping with scorn. "Who's to say they aren't looking to overthrow Snow just to take his place?"

At this a whirlwind of voices choruses in answer, and I give up trying to decipher individual words. It's clear that Tre is not there. Sighing heavily to myself, I exit the kitchen and walk up the nearest staircase. I'm not exactly sure where I'm going, but the refugees' conversation gave me much to think about.

Why _was _District Thirteen helping us, after decades of standing by while the children of the other districts were sacrificed each year? What made them decide to finally join in the fight for our freedom? What had caused _us _to rebel in the first place?

I frown- I know the answer to the last question. _Maysilee. Haymitch. Katniss. Madge._

The mockingjay pin, once a harmless trinket worn on a pretty girl's dress, is now the national symbol of revolution. Of freedom. And somehow, my family has managed to tangle ourselves up in it.

Images of war suddenly fill my head. I've never seen anything remotely resembling it before- such shows would have been banned in the Capitol's better days- so my mind makes use of the only fight it has ever known- the Hunger Games. But instead of twenty-four tributes, there are thousands of men and women holding guns, swarming like mosquitoes waiting to be stomped out by a bigger power. And the blood- there are rivers of it, flooding the soldiers up to their knees until they're practically floundering in it. I gag, trying very hard not to throw up.

I don't know when precisely I ended up on the ground, or how I landed at the bottom of the stairs I had just climbed up. Or why there was suddenly the presence of another person for that matter.

"Ma'am, are you alight?" The voice is concerned and… familiar. Why is it familiar? My head hurts- everything hurts.

"What happened?" I ask groggily, feeling my vision begin to fade. Two strong arms cradle me, taking care not to move me too much. The images of war slowly fade from my brain, replaced by sleepiness and an constant throbbing ache in my right arm. My stomach is swimming uncomfortably.

"You- you fell. Down the stairs," the man says, his voice halting. This time, I _know _I've heard that voice before. It reminds me of honey and… icicles.

"Tre?" I whisper, though I know it won't be him. I must have hit my head pretty hard on one of the stairs.

The hands grip me tighter, and I can feel my head being lifted gently, until I'm staring at the foggy outline of someone's face.

Icicles.

"Wait-Posy?" he asks, disbelief and joy evident in his voice. I smile weakly, and then I know no more.

**A/N: Guess who's back!? Review and you'll get PLENTY of Trosy (Tre/Posy- someone PMed me a little while back using this couple name and I like it) next chapter! **


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